I Choose a Mortal Life
by Y2535
Summary: Elrond reflects.


Disclaimer: I'm a professional Tolkien impersonator. All this belongs to me. And only me. And me alone. Except that it doesn't.   
  
A/N: Please read and review. Flames are acceptable, but make them grammatically correct and spelling error free. I know that's mean, but...

**I Choose a Mortal Life **

 My heart screams.  I am familiar with the feeling, yet I loathe it.  Too often have I felt the heat and pain shriek through my veins.  Unbidden, images and memories flash through my

 mind like wildfire.  Fears make themselves known; evil memories, long hidden, burst through the prison walls that have bound them for centuries. 

 I see my childhood home; destroyed by my kin.  They run towards me as I stand, helpless, at my mother's side; an evil glint gleaming in their eyes.  They have spotted her-my

 mother- and know she carries the coveted silmaril.  She turns.  I see the brilliant jewel sparkle between her fingers.  Before I can stop her, she throws herself out the window,

 leaving my brother and I alone and terrified with these murderers. 

 I see my beloved wife.  Pale.  Dying.  I see her brought into the peaceful haven of Imladris and feel my senses go numb.  Nothing, not the many battles I have lived through, nor

 the nightmares I have been tormented with since the attack could have prepared me for this.  Taking my Celebrian from Elladan's arms I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. 

 Quickly I glance at Elrohir.  Mirrored in his face are the pain and disgust I see in his brother's eyes.  I regret sending them out the rescue her.  They should never have seen this cruel torment. Their suffering is intensified because it is their mother inflicted with the injury. 

 I see her lying in our bed.  Weak; struggling alone in hideous nightmares I cannot begin to comprehend.  I am unable to help her because of my exhausted state, yet I refuse to leave her even for the few hours of rest my body so desperately needs. 

 I feel Arwen's hand on my shoulder. 

 "Ada please" is all she says, needing not to finish the sentence.  I know what she means.  "Ada please" her soft, scared, pleading voice repeats itself in my mind.  "You must take care

 of yourself."  I have not slept for days, frightened that Celebrian will need me, but no one would dare disturb the rest of the Lord of Imladris. 

 Long as I have not slept, longer has it been since I have eaten.  I cannot.  Food repulses me.  The thought of my love tormented by the evil yrch has stolen any desire for nourishment. 

 Arwen is gone, but her voice still echoes in my head. 

 "Ada please" I know now she is referring to her brothers.  "Please, they need you.  They need you to talk to them, to love them, to let them know that you don't blame them."  I

 can't.  How can I talk to them if I can't look them in the eyes anymore?  What comfort can I provide when I have none? 

 "Ada please," I hear the echo once again.  "Ada please" it seems to say, "I need you.  Treat me like you once did, when I was scared of the monsters under my bed.  Hold me safely

 and tell me everything will be fine." 

 "I wish I could," I whisper to Celebrian, "but I myself don't know." 

 I see my king, lying dead on the battlefield.  I run to his body, oblivious to the war going on around me.  There must have been something I could have done to save my father and friend, but I was too scared to do it.  I do not know what happened next, but somehow I was standing in the crack of doom.  Still in shock, I see Isildur standing with the one ring; his "No" rings in my ear as clear now as it did all those years ago.  I am betrayed and frozen as I see him turn and walk away.  Gil-galad's death a very high price to pay for only prolonged destruction. 

 I see the Dark Lord, risen again in power, this time greater than before.  Our only hope for overthrowing him is placed in men.  I lead a dwindling group of elves -a mockery of their former brilliance- toward Lorien.  There the elves will join the hosts of men.  I know we are too few and too late.  Never will we be strong enough to prevent Sauron's domination. 

 All this destruction is my fault.   It was I who was unable to help Cirdan to convince Isildur to destroy the ruling ring that Sauron has now recovered.  I watch the elves at my command, and know it is not enough to prevent the death of Galadriel, Celeborn and all they stand for. 

 I see Elrohir, watching his mother sail west, knowing there is nothing I can do or say to comfort him.  Angry.  Confused.  Betrayed.  I watch, unable to move as he turns and runs.  He is building himself a protective shell from which he may never re-emerge. 

 I see his brother.  Tall.  Proud.  Unmoving.  I see the hate smouldering in his eyes; ready to burst into flame and char the next orc he sees.  This passion for vengeance will become an obsession.  It will overcome him until nothing I can say or do will satisfy him.  It is a hunger that will flourish.  Only at the slaughter of the very last orc will he be truly Elladan. 

Until then, my son is a driven killing machine. 

 I hold Celebrian.  She whispers into my ear three heartbreaking words I hoped never to hear: "Let me go."  They are endlessly repeated as I watch my youngest son and witness the sealing of my daughter's fate. 

 I see Arwen, like so many before her, ill, dying and alone. I cannot be there with her in her final hours, but am forced to watch her wandering in the once fair woods of Lothlorien, now deserted; as is my mortal child. 

 Unknowingly, I grasp the banister behind me for support.  My little girl repeats the same dreaded, fate-sealing words I heard long ago from my own dear brother. 

 "I choose a mortal life."


End file.
